


i want to know what love is (i want you to show me)

by GeorgieGirl8



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-19 00:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14225403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorgieGirl8/pseuds/GeorgieGirl8
Summary: Uncharacteristically, Veronica seemed to hesitate. “Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I know I tease you a lot, and I tease Jughead even more. But truthfully, I love you, B, and I want nothing more in this life than to see you happy.”“Wow,” was Betty’s careful reply, the twinkle in her eye dimming a bit as she met V’s earnest expression. “Okay, you’re being serious. What’s going on?”“It’s Jughead. And you. It’s the two of you.”“Oh yeah, the ‘star-crossed lovers,’ right?” Betty chuckled a little nervously, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light.V didn’t respond, but looked down, playing with the pleats in her skirt.“V, say something, this isn’t like you,” Betty urged. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”Veronica seemed to rediscover her self-possession as her eyes flashed up to Betty’s. “You love him,” she said.---In which Betty comes to a realization, but can't quite find the courage to own the truth about her feelings for Jughead.(AU in which Bughead isn't yet a thing)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever -- and actually the first short story I've written in years and years. Please be gentle with me :) Any and all comments are much appreciated.

“Betts—come on. I would have expected a more critical understanding of these connections from an intellect as sharp as yours,” Jughead smirked as he leaned back against the locker next to hers and bit deeply into an apple.

Hastily shelving her textbooks and binders in an effort to get to cheer practice as quickly as possible, Betty shook her head, holding back the smile that threatened to spread across her whole face, belying the degree to which she was actually enjoying this sparring match. “Correlation is not causality, Jug. Face it: you’re making a ridiculous claim.”

“Am I?” was the playful reply, uttered around a mouthful of golden delicious. He narrowed his eyes and leaned towards her, counting off on his fingers as he spoke: “Brazil. Argentina. Germany? Are you seriously pretending you can’t see a pattern here?”

“Talk about hasty generalizations that ignore historical context and the multitude of other possible contributing factors, Jug. Like I said; correlation is not causality.”

“Hm. So naïve, Betty,” he said in mock-disapproval, jumping out of the way to make room for Veronica, whose locker he was leaning on, and who, like Betty, was trying to avoid tardiness and the ensuing wrath of their cheer captain.

“What are you star-crossed lovers arguing about now?” she teased, wrestling her cheer bag out of the cramped cell.

“Jug has made the – seriously flawed – claim that support for soccer is somehow the cause of authoritarian governments,” Betty explained, rolling her eyes theatrically at him.

“Wow, hot take,” deadpanned Veronica, taking Betty’s hand and pulling her down the hall in the direction of the gym. “Good luck with that new position at Huffington Post,” she shot over her shoulder.

“Ha,” was the mirthless rejoinder. “The evidence is there,” he shouted after them as they dashed away, giggling. “You just don’t want to admit it!”

…

Pulling up the zipper on her friend’s cheer outfit in the locker room, Veronica sighed, opened her mouth and closed it again, but said nothing.

“What is it, V?” Betty asked with a smile, turning to face her. “I can tell you’re holding something back. Before you explode out of that uniform, spill.”

Uncharacteristically, Veronica seemed to hesitate. “Speaking of evidence, and not wanting to see it.... Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I know I tease you a lot, and I tease Jughead even more. But truly, I love you, B, and I want nothing more in this life than to see you happy.”

“Wow,” was Betty’s careful reply, the twinkle in her eye dimming a bit as she met V’s earnest expression. “You’re being serious. What’s going on?”

“It’s Jughead. And you. It’s the two of you.”

“Oh yeah, the ‘star-crossed lovers,’ right?” Betty chuckled a little nervously, sensing that Veronica was taking this conversation somewhere she didn't want to go and trying to keep it light. Veronica didn’t respond, but looked down, playing with the pleats in her skirt. “V, say something, this isn’t like you,” Betty urged. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Veronica seemed to find the words as her eyes flashed up to Betty’s. “You love him,” she said, her voice quiet, direct, and serious. “You are in love with that boy. And he loves you. I can see that this is shocking to you, and frankly that shocks me. The chemistry between you is… undeniable, Betty. It’s palpable. And honestly, it’s super hot. But the two of you are locked in some kind of -- I don't know, a psycho-sexual moratorium, or something.”

Blushing deeply but trying to keep her expression in check, Betty turned back around to stuff her school clothes into her gym locker, stunned into silence for the moment. "That's a big word," she mumbled into her locker.

“B, don’t even argue with me. You know it’s true.”

“Boy, your hot takes are almost as bad as his,” she finally said, turning around and making a half-hearted attempt at a laugh.

Veronica put both hands on Betty's shoulders in a caring gesture. “I know love when I see it. The teasing, the laughing, the casual physical contact… these things might look on the outside like 'just' friendship, but there is something deeper. Something real. When you look at each other… I’m sorry! It’s so obvious. All the damn irony and obscure film references in the world can’t cover it up.”

“Veronica--”

“No, ok, fine,” the dark-haired girl intoned patiently, pulling her hands away and returning to her usual confident demeanour, seemingly satisfied for the moment at having unburdened herself. “Believe me or don’t. But I know what I see. Give it some thought. You could be missing something. Something… really good.”

With that, turning on her heel and striding into the gym, Veronica left Betty standing at her locker, struggling not to reel from this revelation.

 _No,_ she thought. _No, no, no. We’re friends. Great friends. The best of friends. Kindred spirits! But it’s totally platonic. For both of us. I’m sure of it._ She slowly closed the locker door and raised her hands to adjust her ponytail, pulling it extra-tight. Her heart beat a little faster.

She felt herself becoming indignant, offended by Veronica's implication. _Our culture is just so… heteronormative! We can’t ever accept the idea of men and women being platonic friends. There’s too much pressure to pair up, for every opposite-sex relationship to end in romance. It’s ridiculous. Jug and I are more evolved than that._

Yes. Ridiculous. It certainly was. B yanked out her hair elastic in frustration and began to gather up her blonde hair in hasty fistfuls, clawing it back into an even-tighter ponytail.

 _Ridiculous_.

Splashing water on her burning cheeks at the bathroom sink and wiping paper towel roughly over her face, she tried to push away the thoughts of J’s face, his eyes, ocean-blue, soft but focused and present, trained on her own, as they’d teased each other minutes earlier, that rose in her memory. The mischievous curve of his smile, the dark curl of his hair.

Something began to flutter, ever so gently, in her stomach. She scoffed at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror as Veronica’s words echoed in her mind: “Maybe you’re missing something…”

_Ridiculous._

 

Right?

 

 

_Shit._


	2. Chapter 2

“Elizabeth!” Her mother’s voice shot up the staircase like an arrow, pursuing her as she dashed to her room, taking the steps two at a time. “Elizabeth!”

She paused, turning hesitantly. “Hi, Mom.”

“Elizabeth, you’re 35 minutes late.” Alice’s face was stormy as she peered up the stairs, aggressively and absently drying a bowl with a pink tea towel. “I certainly hope you didn’t make any trips to a certain Chock’lit shop on your way home from cheer practice.”

“No, Mom,” Betty moaned. “Cheryl just needed us to go through our routine a bunch of extra times before the big game.”

“Good,” was the perky reply. “We can’t have you filling your body with junk food, can we? I’m making skinless chicken breasts with brown rice and steamed veggies for dinner. Come down as soon as you’ve showered.”

“I’m not hungry.”

After what Veronica had said, Betty’s thoughts – and her stomach – were swirling. Distracted, she had almost toppled off a pyramid at practice. And despite Cheryl’s sadistic enthusiasm for making her girls do infinite numbers of burpees, Betty had no appetite now. Her mouth felt dry.

“Elizabeth, are you being honest with me about Pop’s?”

Pinching the bridge of her nose and sensing that she was in an impossible situation, Betty acquiesced. “Yes, Mom. I didn’t go to Pop’s. I guess I just did… too much cardio? I don’t know. I’ll be right down.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Is Dad home?”

After a long pause, Alice replied from the kitchen, her voice considerably tighter: “No. He’s working late tonight. Another police board meeting.”

“Oh… right. Sure.”

Entering her bedroom, Betty glanced at the half-empty prescription bottle on her vanity table, at the picture of herself and Polly in happier times down at Sweetwater River some five years ago, and at the collection of little trophies, certificates, medals, and other proof of her achievements – over-achievements – in sports, extra-curriculars, academics, scattered around the room. These things had come almost too easily to her. She had developed a knack for turning her full attention to something, applying herself wholeheartedly, and then just… succeeding. But if she were honest with herself it all felt empty. She had had to sacrifice big parts of herself to do this – foregoing unstructured time, time to think or just be, time with friends – and almost hadn’t realized it at the time.

With Polly gone – somewhere, who knew really where, and her Dad a kind of shadow around the edges of their family, and a full slate of school work, homework, cheer practice, volunteering…

She was lonely.

She turned the knobs to start the shower, inhaled the steam, stripped off her clothes, and got clean.

…

Later that night, when her mom had gone to bed and all the lights were off, Betty lay awake staring at the strips of light, reflections of the headlights of passing cars, that slipped across her ceiling, and decided to devote some time to really thinking about this Veronica thing.

This _Jughead_ thing, actually.

Even thinking about his name made her pulse quicken and her stomach do a little flip. Jughead. Jug. Juggy. Her childhood best friend, her favourite sparring partner, stealer of so many of her fries; a comforting, constant presence in her life. Even though she knew his own family and home situation had hardly ever been a stable one, he was always there for her. A listening ear, a flannel-clad shoulder to cry on, a faithful friend.

Her mind drifted back to a moment, maybe three months ago, when word reached Betty through the Riverdale High grapevine that Ginger said that Reggie had called Betty “stuck-up.” He may or may not also have used the term “bitch” – accounts varied on that point. Either way, he had clearly said something rude. Betty had a hunch that this was related somehow to Polly’s situation with Jason and the general toxic vibe of the football subculture in Riverdale. As gross as it was, Betty didn’t take it very personally and resolved to confront him in a calm and rational way about it. But Jug was furious.

“What the fuck,” he had spat, his eyes flashing.

“Jug, relax,” Betty had said.

“Relax? Relax. Betty—” he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them impatiently. “No. Reggie has crossed a line here. He’s—”

“He’s Reggie. He says stuff like that. I’m sure it’s hardly even about me.”

“No, Betty. That doesn’t make it ok. In fact, that almost makes it worse. I mean, men just can’t go around saying these things about women. And other men cannot let them. Not anymore. It ends here. I’m not going to stand by and enable this by—”

“Jug,” she said, shaking his shoulder, “let it go. This isn’t your battle to fight.”

Suddenly it was like the air came out of him, and he slumped as he looked at her, sheepishly, and shook his head, considering her words. “No, I guess you’re right. Oh man, I’m sorry. As much as I’m not ok with Reggie’s particular brand of played-out bullshit machismo coming after you, you don’t need me to run in defending you. You can take care of yourself.”

“Juggie,” Betty cajoled, massaging his arm a little, “You know I appreciate the sentiment. But yeah, I can definitely take care of it.” She smiled at him, trying to catch his eye.

He finally sighed and grinned at her, pulling her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist while his arms came around her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. He smelled like clean laundry and woodsmoke, his worn t-shirt perfectly soft against her cheek, the chest underneath it surprisingly firm.

“ _When_ I challenge him to a duel, though,” Betty murmured, turning her head up to look at him, “will you be my second?”

“Pistols at dawn. Atta girl, Betts. I’ll be there.”

…

Betty rolled over and flipped her pillow, resting her cheek against the cooler side. What had that been about? Was it the indignation of a staunch friend, or the pique of a lover who, in spite of his best feminist intentions, couldn’t help wanting to rush in and defend the object of his affections? 

At the time, Betty chalked up the whole thing – including the blissful warm feeling she’d enjoyed in his arms -- to friendship. But now she wasn’t so sure.

She twisted and wrestled with her sheets, trying and failing to find a comfortable position in the bed.

Why was this so difficult? Everything else came relatively easy to her when she tried hard enough. But in trying to untangle the now-knotted strings of her emotional life, Betty felt helplessly caught, bound, and bewildered.

Reaching over to turn on her bedside light, she opened the drawer of her nightstand and took out a small notebook covered in pink and white satiny fabric. Flipping to an untouched section of the book, she clicked her pen and started graphing the problem out.

She wrote “Evidence for friendship” and “Evidence for love” as headers on the new page, and started making a list of the things that might suggest nothing more than friendship, and things that might suggest that what they had was more than just friendly. Lists. Lists would clarify everything.

- _our hugs are amazingly perfect, like our bodies were meant to fit together_

_\- he's always thoughtful_

_\- we could talk about anything forever_

_\- really “gets” me_

Wait… did that belong in the first column, or the second? Could any of these things be said to belong only in one or the other column? No. Any of them could be evidence for either thing.

_UGH._

Ripping the page out, she started a new set of lists:

“Should I pursue something here?”

_Pros:_

_\- it could be really amazing_

_\- physical attraction (?)_

_\- would make us so happy if it worked_

_\- create an even deeper connection?_

She switched over to the “Cons” column:

_\- if I try, and it fails, we lose everything._

 

Dropping the pen, she flopped backwards onto the tangle of sheets and pillows, pressing her hands over her face with a groan.

 

That’s a pretty big “CON.”

 

Just then, she thought she heard a tapping sound, or maybe a knock. Sitting up to listen more closely, she heard it again. Definitely a low, sharp knock. And it was coming from the window.

She rose slowly from the bed and inched towards her window, her heart hammering in her chest. Suddenly, a familiar face with a curl of black hair and a grey beanie popped into the frame with a crooked smile.

“Jug?”

She rushed over to slide up the sash and help him over the windowsill. “What the hell are you doing here?” She hissed.

“Couldn’t sleep. I’m staying at Archie’s. Saw your light on and thought, well, maybe we could hang out.”

Although he skipped blithely over these bits of information, Betty didn’t miss the subtext. Staying at Archie’s meant trouble at home, and nowhere else to go.

“You scared me half to death! You don’t text?”

“I did think to,” he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck, “but sending ‘hey, you up?’ seemed, you know, cliché. And then I couldn’t think of what else to say.”

She chuckled, though she felt an unwelcome blush rise in her cheeks as she thought about how it would have felt to actually get such a text from him, given what she’d just been thinking about.

“I think it’s considered acceptable as long as you use ‘hey’ with only one y instead of, like, three or four,” she teased.

His face was close to hers as they tried to keep their conversation to a whisper at the still-open window, talking near each other’s ears to stay as quiet as possible.

“Oh, is that the rule, Miss Cooper? The more y’s in ‘hey,’ the more impure one’s intentions?” His breath tickled her earlobe. “Duly noted.”

“Or so I hear,” she replied with a sly smile. “Not that I have any personal experience with such messages.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, looking her over in mock-appraisal. “You can’t fool me,” he said, leaning closer: “I know all your secrets.”

At this she struggled to keep up the flippant act and turned quickly away to hide the expression on her face, which she knew would betray her emotional upheaval.

The playful vibe was instantly sucked out of the room.

He craned his neck to look over her head at the mess of sheets, pillows, papers, and notebook on her bed. Breaking the awkward silence he asked, “what are you working on so late anyway, Betts?”

She panicked, fearing he’d see her pathetic attempt to get a handle on the chaos of feelings and thoughts Veronica had unleashed inside her heart that afternoon. She barely restrained herself from flinging her body on the bed to hide it.

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Just making some notes on, uh, a possible topic for my history presentation.”

“Assiduous as always,” Jug replied with a soft laugh, looking self-conscious, perhaps sensing that he’d interrupted something. “Is everything ok?”

“Oh, yeah,” she lied. “You?”

“Sure,” was the hasty reply.

“Really?” she asked, meaningfully.

“Really?” he turned the question back on her.

“Well, you know,” she said quietly, playing with the hem of her camisole. “My parents.”

He nodded.

“Yeah," he breathed, adjusting his beanie. "I know,” and each understood precisely what the other didn’t say. “I’d better get back,” he said, turning to climb back through the window. “Vegas will start missing me. I keep him warm at night.”

“Jug?”

“Yeah?” He paused.

“I—” she swallowed. “Thanks for stopping by,” she said finally, tiptoeing over to him and encircling his shoulders in a hug.

Startled at first, but responsive, he skimmed his hands across her back and waist, fitting the length of her body to his own. They held each other like that, quietly breathing, for a couple of seconds. She enjoyed the moment of camaraderie and tried hard not to pay attention to the way his body felt pressed against her.

(It felt good.)

“It was on my way,” he joked, but pulled back to look deeply into her eyes.

Her eyes fluttered down, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze. “Right,” she said.

The lanky boy folded his arms and legs back out the window and down the ladder. She watched him lope across the lawn until his form was swallowed up by the shadow of the Andrews’ house.

Turning off the light and climbing back into bed, Betty took a deep breath. The understanding, the connection they had was so important to her. It was almost magical – an oasis in the desert of their otherwise pretty painful lives; an iridescent bubble of carefree happiness. Why poke at it? Why taint it? She resolved to try and shelve these questions of whether she and Jughead were more or should be more indefinitely. The fact was, they needed each other’s friendship right now.

Her phone buzzed. She picked it up. It was a text from Jug. _Hey_ , it read. She smiled.

Just as she was about to put it back down, another message popped up: _Please note the single y, Miss Coope_ r _. I trust this meets your standards for propriety._

Her smile grew bigger. Who but Jughead would write a text like that?

Yes. Putting these questions away was the right call.

There was another buzz.

 

_;)_

 

 _Oh my god_ , she thought, tossing the phone back onto her night table with a groan.

_I'm so confused._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to so many of you who have left kudos and comments on this work! I'm overwhelmed! I've been so nervous posting each section, since I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing. I even tried writing a somewhat smutty scene in this one!!! OMG! I hope it's OK. Feedback (including criticism) is very very much appreciated :))))

26, 49, 9, pull. Nothing.

26, 49, 9, pull. Again, nothing.

Rattling her locker door in frustration, Betty took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles and shook out her hands. She’d had the same combination all year. Why didn’t it work? Was it some kind of prank? Had she forgotten the right combination somehow? Was she losing her mind?

Try again. Concentrate. OK.

26, 49, 9, pull, pull, PULL. The lock stuck fast.

“Son of a—”

The last part of her curse died on her lips as a strong pair of hands slid gently over the curve of her hips and came around to caress the lower part of her belly, pulling her back gently against a warm, lean body.

“Hi,” a familiar voice murmured in her ear.

“Jug?” she breathed, her whole body flushing hot and cold as she struggled to figure out just what was happening.

“Betts,” he replied, his voice husky and reverberating through his chest into her back.

“Um, hi,” she said unsteadily, still confused but trying to stay calm as flocks of butterflies sprang to life inside her stomach. His hands began to move now, slow and soft, skimming up the front of her body, his thumbs coming to rest on the underwire of her bra. Feeling something like an electrical current zap from the base of her ribcage down low into her belly, sparks jumping lower and lower, her eyes fluttered closed as she arched ever-so-slightly into his touch, pushing her hips backwards and thrusting her chest up into his hands.

Was this really happening?

“Oh my god, that’s… you’re…” her breath was shallow and ragged, the ache between her legs sudden, hot and throbbing.   

“Is this… ok?” he rasped, his nose and lips nuzzling her earlobe, finding the sensitive spot behind her ear, then trailing down the side of her neck, his mouth open, the bursts of his breath between kisses warm and moist against her skin, sending goosebumps in all directions. She brought her hands to cover his own, guiding them all the way up onto her breasts, her scalp seeming to burst into flame. Taking the cue, he cupped them eagerly, almost roughly, eliciting a guttural moan as he squeezed and massaged them through her pink sweater.

“Juggie… oh…” she panted, breathless, surrendering to his embrace, burning and writhing under his touch as she reached behind her head to sink her hands into his dark curls, pulling his face into her neck and knocking his beanie off in the process.

“Betty,” he sighed into her ear.

“Jug,” she gasped, “my locker won’t open.”

“What…?” His movements slowed.

“The lock is… I don’t know, stuck or something. It won’t work. I’ve tried the combination so many times, but it won’t open.”

“Betty—” his voice was strained now, his body stiffening, his hands dropping to his sides.

“I need to keep trying the combination,” she explained, bending over to fiddle with the dial. “There’s got to be a way to get it open. I need to get my books.”

From behind her came a frustrated exhalation. “Alright. See ya, Betts,” he muttered as he stalked away into the crowded hallway.

The bell rang. _Time to get to class. This locker still won’t open!_ The bell kept ringing. Ringing, ringing— _why is it still ringing?_

 

Finally, Betty woke up, her mouth dry and her hair over her face.

Sitting up and turning off her alarm, she tried to make sense of the little scraps of the dream still floating around in her memory.

His hands…

His mouth…

Holy crap, that was hot.

Making a mental note to scratch out the question mark after “physical attraction” on the list she’d made the previous night, Betty rubbed a hand across her face, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and began to get ready for the day.

…

Contrary to her dream, Betty’s locker opened on the first try. And Jughead, when she saw him, kept his hands entirely to himself, as usual.

_Win some, lose some._

In physics, they sat together, trading amused glances when Archie asked their teacher – very earnestly – whether warp speed and light speed were the same thing.

In history, she lent him paper when he realized he’d written on all of his loose leaf (drafting a new chapter for his novel).

At lunch, they met up in the Blue & Gold office to put the finishing touches on a couple of stories for the following week’s edition. Sitting across from one another, typing away on their laptops, they passed a good thirty minutes in companionable silence before the desire to engage with him, to have his eyes on her, to be close to him – in whatever furtive way she could manage – finally got to be too much for Betty.

“Jug?”

His eyes, dark-rimmed but such a bright shade of blue, emerged from their curtain of lashes. He pulled down his headphones. “Hm?”

“Can you come and have another look at this piece of yours? It’s the football one. I wanted to go over the lede with you and see what you think about changing the order of a couple of things.”

Getting up and grabbing his chair, he came around the corner of the desk and set the chair down backwards beside hers, straddling it, both elbows leaning on the desk, his face turned intently towards her laptop screen. “Shoot.”

He was so close, she could see the faint stubble on his chin and the shadows of freckles left by the previous summer’s sun across his nose. She could hear his breathing. They had worked together like this a million times. But now it was so intense; overwhelming, almost. A day ago, everything about him was as familiar to her as the houses along her street. But now his face, his long fingers, the breadth of his shoulders under the back of his shirt – everything about him, his whole physical presence – seemed brand new.

“So?” He smiled at her.

“Right,” she answered, moving the cursor over the text in question. “I feel like this part-“ she highlighted a sentence – “and this part-“ highlighting a different sentence – “could maybe switch places? Get to the point a bit quicker?”

He nodded, reading the section. His eyes flicked back and forth between the words, then over to her eyes, bouncing ever-so-quickly down to her lips before returning to the screen.

_Wait: did he just look at my lips?_

“Ok, yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, bringing a hand up to rub his jaw and sitting back a little in the chair. “Make it so, Betts. Right as always.”

She found herself wishing he’d lean back in. She pictured herself grabbing his face between her hands, covering his mouth with her own, swallowing his gasp of surprise. But as curious as she was, and as much as the impulsive voice in her head tried to goad her into it, she couldn’t cross that line with him. There was too much at stake.

But couldn’t she still enjoy these little moments of physical closeness? Couldn’t she savor them, store them up in her head to feed her fantasies, without having to admit that she wanted more? Without having to take that leap?

She couldn’t get around the feeling that she would be acting in bad faith.

But what if she did just… leap? Once she had leapt, she knew, she would fall, and she’d pull him down along with her. And where would they land? Maybe someplace great. But maybe he didn’t want to go there with her. And then all of this – their talks, his listening ear, their deep understanding, their friendship – it would all come crashing down and leave them both with nothing.

“Betts?” he asked, dipping his head to catch her attention. She realized she’d just been staring into the space directly beside his head for several seconds, lost in her own nervous interior monologue.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head as she came back to herself. She met his eyes. They were fixed on hers, soft at the corners, warm; the edges of his mouth were curving slightly upward. She felt her cheeks flush, her heart speed up. His expression shifted: inquisitive, bemused. There was no mistaking the affection in that gaze. And there was no looking away now, either.

She felt herself working up to something. Her stomach flipped. The back of her neck was hot, then cold. She had the strange sensation of losing control of her own face, of having no ability to smile in that bland, defensive way she’d perfected.

“Everything ok?” he quizzed gently, touching her forearm, his nervous smile exposing the slightest view of his teeth. His face was open, vulnerable.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to him to manipulate him this way, to get close to him without admitting what she was really feeling. And it wasn’t fair to burden him with her heavy feelings, either. They needed each other, trusted each other.

“Yep,” was her unconvincing reply. “Thanks.”

…

Sinking down in her seat, emotionally drained, Betty steeled her nerves against the arrival of Veronica in their English lit class, the only period in the day she didn’t see Jug. (And a good thing too – they were way too competitive in this subject to peacefully coexist in the same classroom.)

“Why, Maggie Pollitt, as I live and breathe,” drawled the dark-haired girl as she sashayed down the aisle and perched on the chair next to Betty’s.

“Ronnie, please, not now,” Betty moaned, pulling herself up and getting out her books.

“How’s that tin roof?” Veronica teased, rearranging her pearls. “Pretty hot, I’m guessing, given your languid appearance. I take it you gave my revelation some serious thought?” 

Shooting her friend a hard stare, Betty hunched over her desk.

“Just as I thought,” returned Veronica, clearly pleased with herself. “ _Du coup_.”

“It’s not that you’re right,” Betty whispered, leaning closer to her friend to keep their conversation out of the ears of her nosy classmates. “It’s that – even if you are – there’s just nothing we can do about it. I can’t do that. I can’t do that to him. If I open up to him and he doesn’t feel the same…”

“And what makes you so sure he _doesn’t_?”

“If there’s any chance he doesn’t, V – any chance at all… there’s just too much to lose. We need each other. I can’t risk losing him.”

“And how much do you stand to lose if you _don’t_ make a move?”

Betty opened her mouth to reply, but came up empty. Just then, the teacher called the class to order and started handing out photocopies of _Ode on a Grecian Urn_.  As the discussion progressed, one group of lines in particular stood out to Betty as her eyes skimmed across the text:

                Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,

                Though winning near the goal, yet do not grieve;

                She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,

                For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Wheels started turning in her mind. The blood pounded in her ears. These lovers, painted on the urn: they’ll always be close; he’ll never lose her, nor she him. But they’ll never kiss, either. They’ll never know bliss, never really live. They’ll be frozen for all eternity in this moment of… of… of nothingness.

Dizzy and lightheaded, Betty felt something click into place.

Frantically, with a shaking hand, she circled the lines and held the paper out to show Veronica. Sliding her glasses up her nose to peer at the poem, she tut-tutted: “iconic and tragic!”

This was it. Here was the answer.

Betty smiled, gripping her pen and ripping three sheets of paper out of her notebook.

Time to make a plan.


	4. Chapter 4

It was Wednesday, and Betty Cooper had a plan.

A simple plan, but a big plan.

Most importantly: a _foolproof_ plan.

A plan achieved through multiple drafts of flow charts, decision trees, and lists.

She grinned to herself as she skipped up the steps of Riverdale High, inhaled the crisp morning air, and flung the doors open, striding down the hall.

Step One: ask Jughead to help her set up for the big dance after the football game Friday night. Betty was currently operating the Social Committee completely solo, so not only would they probably have lots of time alone together – and therefore (Step Two:) lots of opportunities for _really important_ conversations like the one she needed to have with him – but this was the truly brilliant part, the part she very nearly literally patted herself on the back for thinking of: he would actually _have to attend the dance_ _itself_. She knew she couldn’t just ask him to the dance – not without a) freaking him right out or b) first telling him how she felt, anyway – and she also knew there was a zero percent chance he would come of his own volition.

It was a brilliant plan.

But what if he begged off? There was always that chance.

Well, sure there was, but Betty had a back-up plan for that eventuality also. If he didn’t want to help out with the dance, Plan B was inviting him over for pizza and a study session Thursday night. It would shorten her timeline somewhat, but she knew he’d never turn down pizza, and they’d be guaranteed to be alone once they were up in her bedroom.

Tightening her ponytail as she approached Jughead’s locker, Betty took a deep, calming breath. She had to act natural. _Don’t let on that you’ve_ _got a Plan_. She could see him taking his books out of his backpack and shelving them inside the locker at a leisurely pace, headphones on, lost in thought.

Coming up behind him, she playfully tapped him on the shoulder and he turned, a smile spreading across his face as he realized it was her.

“Hey Betty,” he said, taking off his headphones and stashing them in the locker.

“Hey,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded a lot more normal to him than it did to her. “Did you watch _Black Mirror_ again last night?”

“Yeah, I sure did. Managed to squeeze it in after I finished that brutal physics assignment. I actually think—”

“You guys talking about _Black Mirror_?” The always-affable smile of one Trev Brown popped suddenly into view over Betty’s shoulder. “Man, I love that show! I’m only up to the fourth episode of the first season, but I’m so into it.”

“That is an absolutely classic episode,” was Jughead’s eager reply. “Wow, I didn’t think anyone else here was watching it,” he chuckled softly, clearly impressed. “Wasn’t it amazing, the part where—”

“Yes! Oh my god, like—” here Trev mimed his head exploding and the two boys laughed.

“No spoilers, though, Trev,” said Jug, crossing his arms and glancing over at Betty. “She hasn’t started watching yet.”

“My dreams are weird enough as it is,” was Betty’s reply, “I’m kind of scared to.”

Shaking his head, Jughead said, “I keep telling her she can handle it, but—”

“Anyway!” Betty interjected, fishing her now-vibrating phone out of her back pocket and starting to feel like she was getting pulled off track. It was a text from Veronica.

_What’s the <3 plan? Come on, spill all the sensual details ;)  _

Oh, Veronica.

“Excuse me, Betty,” Trev mumbled, touching her arm as he passed between Jughead and herself to get into his locker, two down from Jug’s.

“No problem,” she said, stepping back, locking her screen and stashing the phone before either boy could see the message. With a quickening pulse, looking up under her lashes at the back of Jughead’s beanie, she cleared her throat and began, “So, um, I was wondering if you’d mind giving me a hand with set-up for the big dance on Friday. I promise not to make you climb any ladders,” she added, smiling.

“OK,” said Jug, turning around.

Simultaneously, “Yeah, no problem,” was Trev’s reply, as he turned from his open locker to face her again.

Betty froze, looking back and forth between the two. “Great,” she managed to squeak out, plastering what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face, her amazing plan crumbling in her hands like so much stale shortbread. “Great, that’s… great. Many hands, light work! Thanks, guys, I really appreciate the help.”

“Anytime,” said Trev, flashing Betty a smile which, aimed at probably anyone else, would have proven absolutely devastating.

“Yeah,” Jug agreed, his smile weaker, his eyes a little intense. “Anytime.”

 

_Cue internal screaming._

 

“I’ll catch you both later,” said Trev, shutting his locker and walking away.

Soberly, Jughead collected his notebook, textbook, and a pen, quietly closed his locker door, and met Betty’s eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, looking like he’d just thought of something, “you want to meet up at Pop’s after school today? We can look over each other’s History presentations. I can mainsplain the French Revolution to you.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Betty replied sarcastically, biting back a smile, her heart suddenly soaring.

“I’ve been listening to some great podcasts lately,” said Jug, seeming, for some reason, uncharacteristically, willing to be a little self-deprecating in this moment. “I’m just full of important facts right now.”

“Can’t wait,” said Betty, meaning it sincerely.

Maybe her plan could still be salvaged, somehow.

As she opened her own locker door to grab her books, her phone buzzed again. _Geez,_ thought Betty, _living vicariously, much, Veronica?_

Checking her phone, however, she was surprised to see a number she didn’t recognize.

_Hey Betty, it’s Trev. Got your number from Archie :) Just wondering if you’d maybe want to get together to study for that English test? I hear she’s gonna be strict about the spelling of author names :/  
_

Quickly tapping out and sending a _sounds good, ttyl_ , Betty tried to regroup.

Maybe she didn’t have to reach for her Plan B just yet. Maybe this time together at Pop’s could be the moment she needed. Not very private, true, but a place with so much history and meaning for them. And she could probably lure Jug out into Fox Forest if the diner were really busy. Once he’d eaten, that is.

Yes. Pop’s. It made so much sense.

…

Having counted down the minutes until 3:30, her eyes practically glued to the thin red second hand of the clock in her last-period classroom, Betty sprang up and ran as soon as the bell rang.

“So, you promised to mainsplain me the French Revolution,” she said with a mocking smile by way of greeting as Jughead slid into the bench opposite her in their usual booth.

Reaching forward to steal one of her fries and dragging it through the ketchup, barely avoiding her swat, Jughead’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Betty! Robespierre – this guy was -- you’ll actually never believe the stuff he did. He was like a rock star. I mean, absolutely brutal, but… impressive in a way.”

“Hmm,” was Betty’s nonplussed reply as she sipped her strawberry milkshake.

“Not impressed. Well, have you ever heard of the women’s march?”

“Wait, there was a women’s march?” Betty looked up, interested.

“Some even say it started the whole thing,” Jug explained, leaning in on one elbow. “They were revolutionaries, Betts – they got out there to protest the price of bread and it just snowballed until they were straight up calling for the end of the monarchy. Even the soldiers they sent to break it up just joined them. It was remarkable.”

“Jug, that’s actually so amazing.”

“I know,” he said, and he smiled in that way boys sometimes do when they are trying really hard not to look as pleased as they feel. “They talked about it on this podcast, and as soon as I heard about it I thought, ‘I have to tell Betty. She’s going to love this.’”

Betty smiled and reached a hand across the table to squeeze his forearm. Although the gesture was simple and friendly, the reaching had felt awfully close to a kind of leaping, the squeeze an unspoken message.

“Hey, Betty. Jug.” It was Trev, again, this time on his way out of Pop’s with what seemed like half the football team.

“Hey,” they replied in unison, and Betty quickly drew her hand back onto the table top.

“So Betty, about that study session – what do you say we meet up in the library? Monday? 3:30?”

“It’s a— deal. Yeah, yes, sounds perfect,” Betty stammered.

“Cool,” he replied over his shoulder, already nearly out the door, “see you then!”

She gave him a quick wave. Looking back down at Jughead, she found him looking across the table with an expression that was blank, almost inscrutable. A tight smile sprang to his lips. “New study buddy, huh?”

“Our English test is coming up and by all accounts it’s gonna be a doozy,” Betty explained, stirring her milkshake, still trying to read his face.

“Cool,” he replied quickly. Then, “I’m hungry,” he said, starting up out of the bench. “Gonna go order. I could really use a burger… or three…” he added, almost to himself.

…

The rest of their time at Pop’s had been ok – just ok – but considerably less… fun than it had started out. Jughead hadn’t been sullen, exactly, but the spark had gone out of his eyes, and he’d left almost directly after polishing off his burgers (all three of them).

What now? Well, Pop’s was a bust, and it looked like they’d have too much company while setting up for the dance to really talk. But there was still the possibility of a study session – with pizza – at her house.

Plan B had now become Plan A. This was still OK. This was fine. She could make this work. In some ways, she told herself, it was even better.

Thursdays were Blue & Gold deadline day, so Betty knew she’d be spending her lunch hour in the office with Jug. A perfect opportunity.

They were also in the midst of midterms, so just about any class could be used as a pretext for a study date.

Carrying what seemed like every notebook and binder she owned and holding her sandwich between her teeth, Betty knocked on the door of the office with her foot. Jug opened the door, his eyes widening as he saw the pile of books in Betty’s arms. “You’re not messing around, are you, Betts? Gonna own that honor roll again, huh?”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. A-Average,” she retorted with a sly grin.

“I’m not lugging _my_ entire courseload around with me, now, am I?”

“I’m wise to you, Jones,” she giggled. “You don’t like to _look_ like you’re working, but I know better. You’re not that cool.”

Raising his eyebrows, “cool?” he scoffed. “How dare you smear my reputation. I’m clearly the biggest weirdo at Riverdale High.”

“Well, without wanting to jeopardize your status at all, I—” A loud, frenzied knocking at the door cut Betty off mid-sentence.

Opening the door cautiously and peering around the frame, “Veronica!” Betty exclaimed.

“ _C’est moi!_ ” she said with a flourish, flipping her black hair and smugly smiling.

“Late breaking story?” Jughead inquired, hopping up to sit on one of the desks.

“Yes.” replied Veronica, peeking into the office. “Telegram from 1992. It needs its wardrobe back.”

“Touché,” he shrugged, smirking as he adjusted the collar on his flannel shirt.

Veronica’s head swiveled. “Betty. I need a word.”

“Ok,” she replied cautiously.

“In the hallway,” Veronica said, casting a furtive glance in Jug’s direction.

“Sure.”

Once out in the hall, Veronica pounced. “What is this plan you were muttering about the other day? I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to discuss it!”

“Shhh!” hissed Betty, worried Jug would overhear, and pulling Veronica by the crook of her arm into an alcove across the hall. “Not so loud. I—I’m actually about to put it into action. I tried yesterday, but—well, a couple of things got in the way.”

Clapping her hands and bouncing ever-so-slightly in her black patent pumps, Veronica squealed delightedly. “Betty! Swoon—tell me everything!”

“I’m just about to ask him over for a kind of, well, a study date I guess, and then while we’re alone together my plan is—well, I’m going to tell him how I feel.” Betty could feel her cheeks heating up just thinking about it. Her palms were suddenly uncomfortably damp.

“Yas Queen!”

“Veronica, we need to stop talking about this now… I’m getting nervous! I need to try and calm down so I can get in there and invite him over without giving everything away.”

“Of course, my darling. Go! Go forth and claim your man!” Veronica exhorted in a stage-whisper, pressing a hand to her heart. “We’ll debrief later.”

Exchanging smiles and a quick hug, the girls parted ways and Betty opened the door of the Blue & Gold, trying to wipe the dumb smile off her face and look as natural as possible before she saw Jug.

There was a sudden scuffle, a violent fluttering, and a flurry of flannel as Jughead, startled by the door opening, jumped backwards from where he’d been standing, by Betty’s pile of books, dropping a sheaf of papers in the process. His face was beet-red, his eyes and mouth wide open in mortification. “Betty! I—I—”

“Jug, what—”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, “I—I don’t know what I was thinking.” He scrambled around on the floor, picking up the papers he'd dropped.

“What were you—” Betty couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing.

“I was looking through your notes, and, and—”

He didn’t have to finish that thought. She knew exactly what he’d found. He already knew everything. Swallowing thickly, it began to dawn on her that she was going to have to have _that_ conversation with him. Right here and now. Then, all that was left was to do was – she hoped – laugh about the absurdity of this whole situation.

But if he’d found out her secret, he didn’t look… excited about it. In fact, he looked downright miserable. What if....?

“Jug, I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you—” Betty twisted her fingers together as she struggled to find the right words.

“It’s ok, Betty, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I kind of figured…”

“You did?” Her heart beat so hard she had the impression he might be able to see it through her shirt.

“I mean, yeah—when we saw Trev yesterday morning I started thinking…. But then at Pop’s, when he….” Jughead paused, looking down and licking his lips, finally catching his breath. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, you don’t owe me any explanation. It’s none of my business. I’m so sorry I went through your stuff and found your plans. But, I’m happy for you, Betts. Trev likes you too, it’s obvious.”

Blood thundered so loud in her ears she could barely hear her own reply. “Trev?!” Betty croaked, her mind reeling. “So you think—”

“I gotta run, Betts,” Jughead murmured, grabbing her shoulder with a strong hand on his way to the door. “See ya.”

Mouth open, Betty dropped heavily into an office chair.

A simple plan. A foolproof plan.

_Yeah. Not so much._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be the final chapter in this fic, but I'm feeling like we need one more to wrap things up (and maybe get a little bit smuttier?) I dunno! Hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and thanks SO MUCH for all the kind comments and kudos you've left on this work. I'm just so excited to get this kind of response, and it makes me want to write more and more (as my schedule allows!) xox

It was Friday morning, and Jug’s phone had been off since he had blown out of the Blue & Gold office at high speed the previous day – this much she knew, because none of the messages Betty had sent asking him where he was or if they could talk had that little “delivered” notification under them.

Now she was walking into school both hoping she would see him at his locker and dreading their encounter. How could her plan have failed so spectacularly? How could super-organized, rational, do-anything Betty Cooper have screwed this up so entirely?

But there was a new thought dancing around in her brain, now: maybe this kind of thing wasn’t about organization. Or reason. Or planning. Maybe, just maybe, this was about another set of skills altogether. Skills that Betty Cooper wasn’t really used to using just yet.

Coming around the corner, she glanced at his locker. No Jug.

Well, what now?

The bell rang, and reality hit. There was still math class to get to, and still the dance to organize. Betty sighed. Her phone vibrated at almost the same moment that Veronica came striding over, wearing a Cheshire-cat grin that made Betty’s stomach twist.

“Betty! I’ve been texting you! So? How did it go? I’m so excited! Tell me everything!”

“Veronica, I—”

“Is he a good kisser?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in, the corners of her mouth turning up impossibly high.

Betty’s face must have contorted painfully, because Veronica’s smile disappeared. She grabbed Betty’s arm and asked, “oh, no. What happened?”

“He—looked through my papers and found my plan—”

“You _wrote out_ a plan?”

“—and he had seen Trev ask me about studying for the English midterm together—”

“Oh, Trev asked you to do that?”

“—and then he – incorrectly – put two and two together, and—”

“And he thinks you were gunning for Trev,” Veronica sighed, biting her lip and looking thoughtful. “Oh Betty, I’m sorry. Have you spoken to him?”

“His phone is off and he’s not here… V, what am I going to do? And the dance is tonight…”

Squaring her shoulders and regaining her composure, the raven-haired girl said, “girl, you’re going to handle your business – with a little help from _moi_ , of course – and then you’re going to find that boy and just… pour your heart out. And hope for the best.”

Smiling weakly as she wrapped her arms around herself, Betty nodded in acquiescence to Veronica’s idea, which was more of a leap in the dark than a plan. But that was all she could do now.

Suddenly, “Betty! What do you need me to do for tonight?” was Trev’s jovial greeting as he emerged from the hallway crowd to approach the two girls, both of whom startled slightly.

“You!” was Veronica’s decidedly less-friendly reply as she swiveled to glare at him. “How dare you?”

“Veronica—” Betty raised her hands in a gesture of appeasement.

Looking completely confused, Trev opened his mouth, but Veronica didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“You adorable idiot,” she hissed. “Do you have any idea what your sickeningly helpful, chipper, gregarious behaviour has cost my best friend here, Trev? Hm? Do you?”

Mouth still open, brow furrowed, Trev was now making incoherent sounds, looking helplessly back and forth between the girls.

“ _Of course_ you have feelings for Betty,” Veronica continued, rolling her eyes theatrically. “You’d have to be living under a rock not to see that she’s the total package. But Betty’s affections lie elsewhere. And now you have seriously harmed her chances of doing something real with them.”

“Feelings for Betty?” Trev finally managed to choke out while Veronica took a breath to re-load. “What?” he laughed. “I mean, of course, Betty, you’re great – obviously, and no offense – but Veronica, I don’t have feelings for Betty.”

“You don’t?” was Veronica’s flabbergasted reply.

“No!” he protested. “I like her as a friend. You know, Veronica, _friends_ – that thing where you _platonically_ enjoy someone’s company? You know that’s a thing, right? Have you… have you heard of that?” He shook his head, looking disappointed. “You assume I like someone just because I’m friendly with them? That is so… so… heteronormative!”

It was Veronica’s turn to be stunned into silence. “Oh. You’re right,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Now,” said Trev, turning back to Betty. “Like I was saying. What can I do to help?”

…

Having delegated a chunk of the preparations for the dance to Trev and the now-chastened Veronica – who had promised to rally as many Vixens and personal shoppers as she could to assist – Betty was free to go on the hunt for Jughead once school was out. She spent the whole day in a reverie, barely hearing anything her teachers said as she tried to picture what she’d say to him, once she found him.

_“Hey, can we talk? I – uh – am in love with you, I think? I mean, yes, I am. I mean, unless it’s too soon to say that…”_

Nope.

_“Jughead Jones! Take me! Take me now!”_

Ugh, what?

_“JUG! You, me... Let's do this already!”_

The worst.

Nothing she could conjure up to herself seemed right. This was bad.

The final bell rang. She sprinted for the door.

…

Betty’s legs were burning from pumping the pedals on her bike as she hunted all over town for Jughead.

Where does Jughead go when he’s avoiding people? Let’s start with his bedroom.

She pulled her bike up to the trailer, ditching it in the overgrown weeds, and scrambled up the squeaky wooden steps to the door, which she pounded on, trying to catch her breath. Unexpectedly, FP was home and opened the door.

“Betty!”

“Mr. Jones – is Jughead home?”

“No,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “He left this morning – for school, I assumed – and I haven’t seen him since. Was he at school?”

“Oh…” Betty stammered, “well, yes, sure… but school’s out now and I just… I needed to talk to him.”

A small smile danced in the corners of his eyes. “Alright, well. When he gets home ‘from school,’ I’ll tell him to call you.”

“Thank you!” Betty shouted as she ran back to her bike.

 _Wait –_ Betty had a sudden realization – _call me – my phone…_ Somehow, in all the stress of the day, she hadn’t looked at her phone since that morning. _How did I not look at it once, all day?_ She thought as she fished it out of the pocket of her bag. There were texts, of course: one from Veronica, which she had known was there, and then another – from Jug.

 _Hey, sorry,_ it read _. I know I said I’d help with dance stuff but I’m not up to it today. Gonna bow out and give you & Trev some space._

Oh, Jug.

Where else could he be?

The river?

Cutting through the forest, Betty made for the spot on the riverbank she knew Jug liked best, as it had a big oak tree with roots and moss he could recline on in view of the water as he composed sentences in his head. It was a spot they’d been to together on many golden summer afternoons and pink-tinged fall evenings – a fact that actually, now that she thought of it, made it equally likely he’d gravitate there and that he’d avoid it.

She pulled up. The spot was empty. Looking up and down the riverbank, there was no sign of anyone there – and certainly no crown beanie in sight.

Disappointed, she groaned as the frustration and anxiety built up in her chest. She gripped the handles of her bike more tightly to stave off the urge to dig her nails into her palms.

Where next?

Pop’s.

Maybe he was drowning his sorrows in cheeseburgers or working out his frustrations by banging away on his laptop. Turning north, she pedaled with all her strength in the direction of the diner that she knew was among his favorite haunts.

“Sorry Betty,” said Pop, wiping a tall milkshake glass with a towel as the blond girl stood panting, propping herself up on the counter. “He was in here this morning, but I haven’t seen him since just after lunch.”

She let out a long breath and ran her fingers over her flyaway hair. Tightening her ponytail, she tried to clear her mind and think about her next step.

She fished out her phone to see if he’d called or texted. Nothing.

She sagged down onto a stool at the counter, putting her head in her hands. Directly to her left was a newspaper, pages splayed open and slightly askew. In her distracted state and unable to tolerate the untidiness, Betty absently began gathering up the pages and folding them back together. 

Something caught her eye.

_MOVIE LISTINGS_

_Bijou Theatre – The Graduate – Friday (2.15pm)_

The movies. Yes – that’s it. That's where he is.

The bell on the door had barely finished its little ring before Betty was back on the road, headed north again toward the Bijou.

…

The parking lot was almost empty, and as Betty entered the dark-wood-paneled, red-velvet interior of the building, it didn’t even look like anyone was working there. The ticket booth was empty and the concession counter deserted. Probably everyone was watching the movie from the projection booth, she reasoned. There wasn’t likely to be anyone arriving at the theatre at the end of the matinee, especially when the next movie wasn’t scheduled to begin until 7pm.

Should she wait in the lobby for the film to end? The adrenaline coursing through her body all the way down to her tingling fingers and toes told her no – she couldn’t wait.

Pushing through the turnstile and hopping up the steps to the door of the Bijou’s single theatre, Betty’s heart hammered in her chest. He was here – she just knew it – and she realized light-headedly that her moment had arrived, finally. She was going to stop being that lady on the Grecian urn, jump across the line, put it all out there, and then just… hope for the best.

Deep breath.

She pushed open the door, her eyes simultaneously enveloped by darkness and dazzled by the illuminated screen. As she lunged down the aisle, sweeping her head from side to side, Betty saw nothing but empty seats. “Jug?” She whispered, her voice drowned out by the discordant church organ in the film’s climactic wedding scene.

As she got down into the front row she remembered having been to the theatre with him on a few occasions – his birthday, most recently – and realized that his favorite place to sit was on the balcony. Hopping impulsively onto the narrow ledge of the fake stage that framed the screen, shielding her eyes from the glare of the projector, and turning to face the theatre, Betty called “Jug!” up into the depths of the now-indecipherable darkness, just as Dustin Hoffman’s character, banging on the upper window of the church, was repeatedly screaming “Elaine!” to the horror of the wedding guests below.

“Betty?!” came an incredulous voice from the upper-left-hand side of the balcony.

Overwhelmed with relief and anticipation and excitement, Betty laugh-sobbed as she yelled back, “Juggie!”  

“Ben!” screeched Katharine Ross, whose face, frozen in panic as chaos erupted around her, overlaid Betty’s.

“What the hell?!” she heard Jughead say, loudly, but seemingly to himself, as the creak-bang of a theatre seat springing up and the echoed thump of footsteps revealed that he was on his way down the back stairs to her.

Her heart caught in her throat and her stomach twisted as she watched him come charging down the aisle, panting, unsure, his eyes meeting hers as he stretched out his hand to help her down from the stage. As warm and strong as his hand was, when she placed her hand in his, she felt sparks all along her skin. His fingers enveloped hers reassuringly and the anxiety she had felt leading up to this moment vanished. Their eyes stayed locked together as she hopped down. His gaze was impossibly soft, and while something vaguely happy played at the corners of his mouth, he searched her face. “What’s going on?” he said quietly, and while his voice was partially drowned out by the cacophony of the film – where the wedding guests were now engaged in a violent tussle – they were standing close enough that Betty could hear him. “How did you know I was here?”

He hadn’t let go of her hand.

“I didn’t. I mean, I looked all over town for you. Then I happened to see the movie listings and took a wild guess.”

“Nice one, Nancy Drew.”

Betty smirked and took a breath. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?” he asked, his ironic smile melting into something more apprehensive, like he already knew the answer and dreaded it, but needed to hear it anyway.

“About yesterday.”

“I’m really sorry, Betty – God, I can’t believe I—” he looked down, dropped her hand, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Jug, no,” Betty pressed, reaching again for his hand and holding it between hers, lacing her fingers through his long, dexterous ones. His face began to register a surprise it seemed he was struggling to hide. “You’ve got it all wrong. Those plans you found – they weren’t about Trev.”

“They weren’t?” She saw him swallow and look away, his eyes widening.

“No,” she replied softly, as all hell continued to break loose onscreen. _Here goes nothing_ , she thought. “They were about you.”

He found her eyes then, and there was something indefinable, but deeply meaningful, in the way he looked at her. “What do you mean, exactly?” he asked tentatively, reaching out to tenderly brush a stray lock of wind-blown hair out of her eyes. The butterflies in her stomach sprang to life again.

_God, he’s so adorable._

“I mean,” she began, and took a shaky breath, “I mean that I realized something… you and me, Juggie – our relationship. This… I don’t know, this tension between us. There’s something here, I think.” He huffed a soft laugh – relief, maybe, that these feelings were finally out in the open. “It’s more than just friendship, isn’t it? But we’ve been too scared to ask what it is. We’re those people, Jug… the people on that urn!” she urged. “I don’t want us to be those people!”

“Betty—” he shook his head, trying to piece together what she was saying, his eyes beginning to laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“This” she declared, squaring her shoulders. With a swoop in her stomach like jumping off a cliff, she stretched up on her tiptoes, lifted a hand to each side of his face, leaned forward, and brought her lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss that she hoped would show him all the things she was trying and failing to say. In spite of being caught off-guard, he responded instantly, his lips capturing hers in a supple embrace and his hands grasping her arms.

_Wow. Is this really happening?_

As she drew back, her eyes fluttered open to see a smug smile spreading across his face. Their brief shyness in this new closeness with one another wearing off fast, their lips came together again, more eagerly this time, moist and parted slightly, moving together in a gentle push-and-pull. Like a dam had burst, and the desire they’d had building up for months – ok, let’s face it, years, probably – came rushing out in an unstoppable torrent. His increasingly rapid breaths flowed in warm bursts against her cheek. As she slid her hands up his jaw and into the thick, dark waves of his hair, shifting her body forward and losing herself in the moment, his arms came around her waist, pulling her flush against him from chest to thighs. She sighed happily.

_He smells like soap; he tastes like Junior Mints._

It was pure ecstasy. Betty’s heart sang -- and her body began to burn.

Growing hotter and more flustered as their hands grasped and explored one another, Betty had the sudden – and mortifying – realization that while the theatre seats were empty, they had an appreciative audience up in the projection booth. Whistles and clapping could be heard coming from that general direction.

“Crap,” said Jughead, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead on Betty’s, raising a hand to wave sarcastically at the theatre employees. Then, “ah, what the hell,” he muttered, dipping Betty over backward and planting a spectacular, cinematic smooch on her giggling lips.

“Atta boy, Jug!” was the shouted retort.

Onscreen, the runaway couple had settled, breathless and laughing, into their seats on the city bus, and their giddy smiles were just beginning to fade as the bus pulled away.

“I have to say,” said Jughead, catching his breath and holding Betty close as he watched the picture fade to black, “I’m having mixed feelings about the implied parallels between what just happened between us and the insanely ambiguous ending of this film.”

“Of course you would be,” said Betty with a smile, her hands flat against his chest as she looked up at him lovingly, lost in a pleasant kind of haze. “But there’s nothing ambiguous about this -- at least, there isn't now.”

He looked down at her, smiling. “No indeed,” he replied, and leaned down to kiss her as the credits rolled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Here's that BONUS MAKEOUT CHAPTER I promised. This was so tricky to write, and I'm not at all sure I got it right. Any and all feedback MUCH appreciated.  
> Thanks to all who read along with this first fic of mine. I'd love to write more if people wanna read more. Let me know! Kudos and comments are LOVE! xoxox

“So.”

“So.”

“Here we are.”

“Yes. A high school dance. Now I can finally say I’ve attended one. Check that off the old bucket list.”

“Mm-hm,” said Betty with a self-satisfied smile, linking her fingers together behind Jughead’s neck as they swayed together to the reverberating guitar riff of Tommy James and the Shondells’ classic _Crimson and Clover_. Adorably, rather than wrap his arms around her whole body, as she might have expected a dance partner to do, for whatever reason, he had placed his hands rather chastely on either side of her waist. _Wow, this really_ is _his first dance_ , she thought. _  
_

“I must say, you look as lovely as I’d always imagined you would at such an event,” he professed with an impish grin, leaning back a little to take her all in -- disheveled hair, a sheen of sweat still adorning her face and neck, a slightly rumpled blouse, and the jeans she’d worn all day. She hadn’t had time to go home and change between running all over town looking for him and getting back to school in time for the dance.

Tilting her head to the side in acknowledgement and running her hands down the front of his trusty black-green-and-white flannel shirt, “you as well,” she replied.

“Having fun, you two?” Veronica asked, touching both of them on the arm as she passed by, like a glad-handing nightclub owner.

“Veronica! Thank you so much – you really stepped up,” Betty gushed. “The gym looks incredible! You and Trev did an amazing job.”

“Well, I suppose Smithers deserves some of the credit, too. I sent the poor dear all over town for supplies!”

“The gilded chivari chairs are a nice touch,” Betty observed, raising an eyebrow as she looked around the improbably glitzy gymnasium. “Not sure how strictly within-budget that was, but—”

Veronica put a perfectly-manicured finger over Betty’s lips. “Please,” she said. “It’s on Daddy. I just couldn’t abide the thought of—” she shuddered— “folding chairs. So utilitarian!”

“Everything looks great, V.”

“ _Plaisir_!” she exclaimed. And, blowing a kiss over her shoulder, she slipped into the dance floor crowd.

Betty and Jughead looked at each other with the same barely-believing smile, Betty shaking her head. Then, leaning closer, “put your arms around me,” she whispered in his ear, a huge grin pulling at her cheeks. She threw her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling into his neck as he did as she asked. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, a mixture of clean laundry, something musky (his deodorant, she guessed), and wood smoke. She was almost intoxicated by the way his body felt against hers – the lean muscles of his arms and shoulders, the mix of soft and rough skin at his neck and jaw, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest; she also liked the thought that he could feel her body in just the same way right now. She wondered idly what he thought about that.

She wouldn’t need to wonder much longer.

As they stepped together to the music, his hands began to move – first, drifting ever-so-slightly downward, his fingers just barely dipping into the back pockets of her jeans. Feeling a sudden flush in her cheeks, she willed his hands to go further and to grab her there, to pull her hips roughly against his: but this was still the high school gym, and people – chaperones, in particular – were all around. His touch stayed light, tentative. Then, languidly, his hands slid up her back, over the curve of her spine, and splayed gently on either side of her ribcage, the tips of his thumbs teasing just around the edge of her bra. Her body tingled with anticipation. Pulling back to look into his face, Betty saw an expression she’d only ever seen him wear in the presence of hamburgers: lips parted hungrily, eyes darkened with want as they raked over her body.

Leaning back in, her heart pounding, she brushed her nose against his nose, then her lips against his lips – not kissing, but lazily dragging. He closed his eyes at the contact. “Do you want to… go somewhere… else?” she murmured against his mouth, feeling daring. His lips closed around her bottom lip, suddenly and impatiently, and sucked lightly. She could just barely feel the points of his teeth and the squishy tip of his tongue teasing the soft inside of her lip and it sent a bolt of electricity through her whole body. When his lips released, she impetuously covered his mouth with her own, her tongue pushed forward to explore. Fireworks exploded behind her eyes when it made contact with his, and she clung to him through the kiss, losing all sense of time and place.

Finally, he put his hands on her shoulders, prompting her to pull back. “Yes,” he breathed, his gaze so intense it made her heart skip a beat.

…  

Hands trembling, Betty fumbled at the lock of the Blue & Gold office door, trying urgently to fit the key into the finicky slot. From behind her, unable to wait until they got into the room, Jughead had slid his hands around the lower part of her belly, his touch filling her with prickly heat. He was kissing her neck, nibbling and sucking as she closed her eyes, lolling her head to the side to open more of her skin up to his lips.

This whole situation was oddly like her dream from the other night. But rather than fixate on the lock this time, Betty relaxed her fingers, letting the keys drop to the floor with a sharp ring and throwing her hands up on either side of the doorframe. Jughead pushed his body into hers as she braced against the door, arching her back into him, aching for more pressure, more friction. He seemed happy to comply, reading her unspoken cues and moving his hands in opposite directions: one swept upward, creasing her blouse as it claimed her breast and squeezed it through the fabric of the shirt, while the other caressed from the curve of her hip to crease of her thigh, pushing dangerously close to her center.

Suddenly, he froze and lifted his hands, abruptly conscious of what he was doing. “Fuck-- sorry,” he gasped, his lips tickling the shell of her ear, “I’m getting ahead of myself here. Is this okay? Can I touch you like this?”

“Oh my God, Jug, yes,” Betty panted, reaching back to pull his head down into her neck, “yes, you can. Please, don’t _stop_ touching me like that.”

His hands resumed their exploration, his palms so hot she could feel them burning through her shirt. “I’ve just wanted to do this – to touch you – for so long, Betts.” She felt a low laugh rumble in his chest. “You have no idea.”

“Same, Juggie—Oh my God,” was all she could manage to say between gulps of breath. “This is…. ah--don’t stop,” she urged, shuffling her feet apart and pressing her backside into him. She was so turned on at this point that she’d lost all inhibition, despite being in the middle of a hallway where nearly anyone could come along and catch them in the act. And judging by what she was feeling his body do in response, his head was in the same place.

The fingers on her hip inched downward now, brushing once, experimentally, between her legs. Betty moaned sharply, bucking her hips.

“Is that OK, too?” he muttered, smiling into her neck.

“So good,” she breathed as his other hand now snuck under her shirt and shimmied under the lace of her bra, tickling up onto her nipple, pinching and rolling it with light pressure. “Holy shit, Jug,” she said, exhaling loudly, writhing under his hands, which felt now like they were everywhere, “where did you learn how to do this?”

“Oh, I might have thought once or twice about doing this with you,” he whispered darkly. “I might have made some, you know,” he said, sucking on her pulse point, “plans.”

“Plans are bad,” she panted, her eyes drifting closed. “Plans are the worst.”

“Huh?” he lifted his head and his motions stilled as he looked down at her, puzzled.

“No, no, never mind – plans are good, you’re very very good at making plans,” she replied, trying to pull his hands back onto her body.

“Speaking of which, Betts, we really should, um, continue this somewhere more private, I guess,” he said, his hands now on her hips, turning her around.

“You’re right,” she said, coming back to herself a little. She bent down to grab the keys, found the right one, slipped it into the lock first try, and turned the door handle.

_Bingo._

He walked in ahead of her, and as soon as the door was closed, he turned to face her, sliding a hand onto either side of her face and leaning down to place soft, gentle kisses on her lips. Her hands drifted up over his own as they found a slower pace together in the darkened room. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead on hers and sighed. “This is like… I don’t know,” he murmured with a crooked smile, seeming suddenly almost shy, “like a dream come true or something. God, that sounds cheesy.”

Betty smiled, thinking about how true it really was. “It is, though, Jug. I’m so glad you feel this way too.”

Stroking her cheek, he whispered in an awed tone, “I mean, of course I do… I always have.” He struggled to maintain eye contact as he opened up to her. “Maybe you couldn’t tell… I don’t know. I never wanted to—to pressure you or to lose our friendship, so….”

“Me neither. But then Veronica said something—”

“Veronica did?”

“And then we read this poem in English class—”

“Oh! Was that the urn thing?”

Betty nodded, smiling. “And then I tried to think my way out of our little problem. But—”

Their eyes met. “But this isn’t about deductive reasoning, Nancy Drew,” he finished.

“No,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and backing him up to the couch, where he flopped onto the cushions with a mischievous grin, pulling her onto his lap. “No it isn’t.”

Plunging her hands into his hair, pushing off his beanie, she attacked his mouth. His lips parted eagerly and their tongues slipped together as he grabbed her hips, pulling her firmly down and against his body. She rolled her hips against him then, eliciting a moan. Smiling as she kissed him, she did it again, enjoying the sharp intake of breath that resulted. “Betty—” he said in a harsh whisper, his tone a warning. So she moved over him again, and again, a thrill coursing through her as she felt his body respond, his hardness beginning to press at her center, his breath becoming loud and ragged. “Fuck, Betty—"

Their movements became frenzied, desperate, their hands grasping and stroking one another impatiently, badly wanting more –- more pressure, more contact, more bare skin. Before she knew quite what was happening, he had her shirt halfway up her chest. She helped him, reaching down to pull it over her head and tossing it to the side with a grin. Then she worked on him, pushing the flannel down over his shoulders as he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. Coming back together, the barrier of their clothing finally shed, skin sliding against skin, mouths hungrily nipping and sucking all over each other, he buried his face between her breasts, his mouth hot and wet, licked a trail up to her collarbone, and sucked what was sure to be a hickey into the tender skin just behind her ear.

“Oh, God, Juggie—yes, like that,” she moaned as she squirmed in his lap, his excitement becoming more and more evident.

Suddenly, he took control. His arms came around her, picking her up and lowering her onto her back on the couch. He covered her body with his, pressing himself between her legs, holding himself up on one elbow by her head while scooping up her knee with the other arm. This position left her body deliciously open to all of him, and the part of him she most desperately wanted to feel against her was now rubbing against her throbbing centre with gentle friction. Her skin burned everywhere as she arched her back, rocking her hips to relieve this growing ache. Finding a rhythm together, their faces were so close they breathed the same air as they whispered encouragement. Her fingers grabbed the sides of his face, her eyes closing as she felt a tension building low in her belly. “Juggie—Juggie—oh fuck,” she moaned.

But then, “shit—” Jughead was saying, pulling his hips up and off of her, sitting back on his heels, trying to steady his breath.

She gasped, wanting more: “No no no… what’s happening?”

He sat down, running his hands through his hair. “We’ve gotta stop,” he explained, blowing out his cheeks like he was trying to breathe through the pain of an injury.

“But—”

“Sorry Betts,” he said, reaching for her, his face full of regret.

“Why?”

He looked at her for a long minute, his eyes twinkling, the trace of a smile on his lips. He leaned across and her kissed her then, bringing one hand to her cheek. It was a chaste kiss, reverent and full of promise. “I want you,” he whispered, looking deeply into her eyes. “And I want to do… everything… with you. Someday. But not here. Not like this. And if we don’t stop right now, we won’t be able to stop.”

“I just—” she protested.

“Trust me,” he said, looking down at his lap. “We won’t.”

“Yeah, ok,” said Betty, begrudgingly admitting to herself that he probably had a point.

Their heart rates beginning to slow now, their arms coming around one another, they curled up together on the couch. Betty rested her head on his chest while he stroked her hair. “This is nice,” she cooed, nestling into his side.

He kissed the top of her head. “Yeah,” he said.

They sat together like that for a few moments, enjoying the closeness and the silence.

“Hey,” said Jug. “Wanna go out with me sometime?”

“Like on a date?” she asked, teasingly.

“Yeah,” he replied, grinning.

“Yes,” she said.

“Cool,” he answered. “Let’s make some plans.”


End file.
